


sabre

by aeonpathy



Series: put the sun in my hands [17]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - War, Long-Distance Relationship, Love Letters, M/M, Yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:20:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28493031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeonpathy/pseuds/aeonpathy
Summary: Being in love with someone on the opposite pole hurts, and letters sent north are like wishes that don't come true when reality hits.
Relationships: Lee Jeno/Liu Yang Yang
Series: put the sun in my hands [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1128143
Kudos: 21





	sabre

**Author's Note:**

> i found out i like writing things like this

There is something unforgiving about how the waves aren’t crashing against the cliff. The slosh of white sea foam, the roar of water slamming into the side of the earth, the briny mist. None of it is present. The sea is too calm for Yangyang’s liking as he waits in idle, staring at the marks and pawns scattered on the worn down map in front of him. Nothing is moving, and that’s what makes him nervous. 

The loud galloping of a horse storms through camp and touches down in front of the tent. Yangyang stares at the door until someone comes inside. Someone hooded and wrapped up tightly, face obscured from view by winter furs. The soldiers in the tent with him tense, hands all inching towards their weapons before the stranger clears their throat. Yangyang stands from his seat and holds his arms out.

“Stand down, soldiers.”

Donghyuck pulls his hood off and Yangyang levels his gaze. It’s not often Donghyuck makes himself present near the southern borders, having to hold his own with his squadron in the north. He’s changed. His eyes are still icy grey and his hair is a tousled dark brown. But there’s a scar on his cheek, right between the constellations of moles. Nonetheless, he sits across from Yangyang and grins, a teasing glint in his eyes. He has no clue what it means.

“What brings you to the southern borders, Donghyuck?” Yangyang asks, leaning forward. He watches the other dig into his coat until he produces an envelope, white and crisp as the snow Donghyuck comes from. Donghyuck holds it between his fingers and pops his lips. Yangyang frowns and fears for the worst, that trouble has stationed closer than he had originally thought.

“I had a little favor asked of me. I’m supposed to be going to the western border to discuss defensive strategies regarding the forest with Mi—Mark,” Donghyuck coughs, slipping up. Yangyang refrains from snorting, remembering that they’re surrounded by soldiers. He hands the envelope over to Yangyang and gives him a smile. “I’ll be taking my leave now, though. It was nice seeing you, General, I’ll see you in the kingdom in a few weeks time.”

“Safe travels, Lieutenant General. Tell General Lee I said hello,” Yangyang says, and Donghyuck tilts his head sideways.

“Which one?”

But Yangyang never gets to answer him. Donghyuck rebundles himself and breezes out the tent. He mounts his horse before galloping far, far away, into the forests where the western squadron is settled. Comes and goes as he pleases. Yangyang wishes for that same power.

He turns the envelope over, ready to see what documents could be in it, yet freezes when he notices the wax seal. Instead of a dark red, an official seal of the kingdom, the seal is pink, a shade lighter than the tips of Yangyang’s warm fingers, and the same shade as the flush slowly making its way onto the apples of his cheeks. 

“I—If everyone could just clear the room for a few moments, please,” Yangyang orders, not daring to raise his head. He knows. The tone of his voice is unfamiliar to those in the room with him, their curious glances. The sudden quietness he speaks with, the way he shrinks into himself. 

They shuffle out the tent anyways. Yangyang slumps into the chair as soon as the last person exits, legs giving out as he tenderly thumbs at the seal. He understands Donghyuck’s look now. Reaching over the table, he grabs a small blade and carefully lifts the wax from the paper and pulls out two things: a letter, and a white feather with black splatters.

Yangyang unfolds the letter and closes his eyes when he spots the familiar loops of handwriting. Taking in a stuttering breath, he opens his eyes and begins to read.

_Dearest Love,_

_Winters here are something I have become accustomed to, but it seems like the cold would like to tell me otherwise. The fates are not as steady as I wish them to be. As I write, the numbness of the cold night wavers my memories, how so much the fires of the hearth brought comfort. I do not plan to wish on broken miracles, yet the snow whispers life anew. I deem it safe to reassure you that the landscape here will remain unchanged as long as the winters become more brutal as time passes. I think you would like the sight. White blankets of snow and wandering animals of amazing capabilities will sometimes come up near camp and observe. A snowy owl had swooped by and dropped a feather. I'll include it with this letter. Icicles, dangerous as they are, hold a special, mysterious beauty, clear stalactites that decorate the trees and infuriatingly, our equipment._

_However, the cold cannot fill the void that grows, rooting deep within my chest. And words cannot describe the yearning I crave for, the understanding of the soul that beats thousands upon thousands of light years away because you, ultimately, are the keeper of time in which circumstances fall into place. How is the south faring? The sands and the sea seem like a paradise. I would perhaps send this letter with an official war plan, but I thought you might appreciate it more if I sent this separately. I shall send this to you through Donghyuck, as I can’t have wondering eyes be laid upon my words. I miss you. Dearly. Pretty doesn’t hide want. I want you next to me, and I miss seeing your face. I reread the letters you send and they only accentuate the hollowness of the chest, in the place I have carved out for you._

_Should there be any differences trivial matters shan’t arise. On the fifth breath I take there will be wonders I dare grant myself to think of, a blessing or curse dressed in a pomp and pretty as it lays in your safekeeping. And if I were to indulge in such fancies, the joke becomes evident and the ruin starts from my very own trembling hands. So I dream and wish on a blank note instead, and I will keep my hands furled until the next time we see each other. This much, I can do. Perhaps after this is all over, I will then. I would tell the world the many things I would sacrifice to be by your side._

_I hope this reaches you safely. I’ll see you when the compass you keep points home. I’ll be there waiting for you._

_Yours,_

_Jeno_

When Yangyang swallows, it lodges in his throat and he chokes on the tears brimming in his eyes. Being in love with someone on the opposite pole hurts, and letters sent north are like wishes that don't come true when reality hits. 

He prays for Jeno's safety all the time. Winter is harsh and unforgiving. It's hard to reach somebody that's settled in a tundra. Everything is scarce. 

Standing up, he places the owl feather on the makeshift shelf and the letter, among the others sent, lovingly in a neat pile stashed inside a small box and tucked away in a bag. He grabs a sheet of paper and a pen with a small bottle of ink.

Taking a deep breath, Yangyang bleeds his heart in ink out on paper.

**Author's Note:**

> short intermission frm jaeten uhhh i'll probably write that next month anyways HAPPY NEW YEARS
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/laoxaichay)  
> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/laoxaichay)


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